


can't believe (you've been here the whole time)

by beverytender



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 05:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beverytender/pseuds/beverytender
Summary: It's a new feeling, and yet - feels so natural, this bone deep certainty that they'll have this, that this is theirs.





	can't believe (you've been here the whole time)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this is any good at all, but it was determined to be written and determined to be posted and kept me awake two nights to accomplish it so. Here you are.

He knows. As soon as she looks at him, the morning after that last battle, he knows. He's been back and forth on it in his mind for the past two moons, knocked, as ever, off balance by her. Intentionally, he thinks.

And then she looks at him that morning and he knows.

Somehow, it's almost worse. There's still work to be done, plenty of it, and they may have ended one war, but they're far from peace. This knowledge, this knowing, it does nothing but distract, sets him on edge all day, his jaw clenched, anticipating and anxious and helpless with it, waiting, as ever, for her. It was his decision, last time, for all that he didn't want to -

Anyways, he's good at waiting for her. Could probably claim to be an expert, now, as much practice as he's gotten since he arrived at Winterfell. The first week when all she did was glare at him, the days she pretended not to know him as punishment for not mentioning her to her brother, the two weeks of often vicious mockery, when the worst part was the lost look behind her eyes, while he was equal parts hurt and comforted that he could see it, could tell he was feeling it. The endless boundary testing that would've frightened him if she hadn't mentioned, dazed and off balance herself, being no one.

That night and her scars -

So he waits, happy to be able to. They only glance at each other, throughout the day, and he imagines, hopes that she can see, can tell, that it tortures him not to cross the yard, not to -

Gods, he hopes she can see why he doesn't, pounding behind _his_ eyes, the trust. 

He doesn't know what he's going to do when she...

~

The day passes quicker than he expected, and towards the end he manages to distract himself enough that when he makes his way to his little room behind the forge, it's been dark for a bit already.

He isn't surprised, when he finds her in his bed, curled up into a ball under the furs. She's still so small. He finds himself amazed by that, every time he's close to her. There's so much force in her, packed in so tight. It takes his breath away, so he drops, sits down rough next to her on the bed. She shifts, just enough for him to recognize the deliberation, to know she's awake and then she stills, evidently content for him to look at her.

Not for long enough.

“You took forever,” she grumbles, her eyes still closed and her nose scrunched up. He can't help but grin at her, but he resists the urge to trace the curve of her cheek with his thumb.

“I didn't know you were waiting for me, m'lady.”

She makes a face again - her protests to the term are so much less forceful since that night, since his whisper, ‘the best kind,’ and his lips behind her ear, her face tilted up - and then her eyes do open, “You did know I'd find you.”

“Yes,” he reassures, his hand finding hers over the blankets, “I knew that.”

“And you won't -” she falters, uncertain, curling back a bit further into the bed. It makes his heart ache and soar, all at once, certain he can comfort her. 

“I won't what?”

“Don't make me say it,” she shoves at him, her mouth a lovely curl of irritation, and sits up to turn away from him. She’s put on one of his shirts, the collar too wide, one side yanked up to her neck and the other drifting down her shoulder. He wraps his arm ‘round her waist, light, just to keep her from going too far.

“I won't make you say anything,” he promises.

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know. Still.”

“I don't know what I want here.”

“To be here?”

“Yes.” Her answer is emphatic and quick, her hand going to his arm, tightening his grip on her. “Of course to -”

“What more do you need to know?”

She goes to shove at him again and he catches her hand in his free hand, “Isn't that enough?”

“It is not. That's not all I want, I just -” She sounds defensive, and he remembers so clearly the day they discussed the Brotherhood and how fiercely protective she was for days after, the way she looked at him.

~

“And what?” He demanded. “Then you could have fought with the family you just got back just to see me for minutes at a time and somehow I would be supposed to not hate myself for that?”

~

He knows what to say here, more than he's ever known what to say to her, maybe, and it makes him giddy so he wraps both arms around her this time, and tugs her, furs and all, into his lap. She squeaks almost, and clutches at his arms. He almost, almost kisses her but instead presses his forehead to hers, “We've got time. That's all you need to know for now.”

“I don't want to wait. I - last time - It felt different, till you said no.”

“I didn't say no.”

“You didn't say yes.”

He tips his head back against the wall and her hands come up into his hair, making him look her in the eye again. She's chewing her lip, but she doesn't look so uncertain anymore. “Yes doesn't cover it,” he tells her, honest. 

She goes a little pink at that, and he starts to seek out the edge of the blankets to get his hands underneath, wrap his fingers around her hips. “I told you,” he whispers, “I'll follow you wherever you like.”

“I can't lead here, I don't -”

He kisses her, then, before he contradicts her, because the frustration is building in her voice and before - She had seemed comfortable, then, calling those shots, when she stormed into the forge to put her mouth on his, her grip on his hair tight enough to yank it out if he'd dared move away from her. As if he would have. 

There's less force this time, but it works, he can feel her relax and it's extraordinary, being the one keeping her close this time. 

“We've got time,” he repeats, when he pulls back.

“Do we?” She fidgets, any relaxation he'd coaxed into her gone that quick, pressing her face into his chest - as much to be close as to hide, he thinks. “How can you be sure of that?”

“Easily - look at everything that's happened, and here we are, somehow.”

She must not have an argument for that, as she stays quiet, but she doesn't relax much either. He exhales, presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Let's sleep, love.”

Her protest is immediate and flattering and only convinces him more, because her voice wavers, and he knows too well he wouldn't hear that if she didn't want him to. “I don't want to sleep.”

“I do. I'm exhausted.” He replies, “And I don't want to rush. You're tense, and you shouldn't be when -”

“I'm not tense because of that.”

“I know. Still.” He repeats. 

She grumbles something about not being tired into his neck, and he bites back a grin. 

“Stay anyway,” he says, holding her snug enough to keep her pressed right up to him as he tips them both sideways on the bed, “Keep me warm.”

“You don't need anyone to keep you warm, you're practically a furnace,” she argues, but she only moves away enough to tuck him under the furs as well before she curls back into him. 

“Let me keep you warm, then.”

“Fine,” she replies, the tension slipping out of her again, slowly. He's never felt this content in his life, and he's right, he's sure of it. They've got time.


End file.
